The Word Became Flesh
The old shepherd’s bones ached with the deep cold that settled in the Judean hills before dawn. He stirred the embers of a meagre fire, his breath pluming in the air like a silent prayer. Above him, the black vault…
The Transfiguration and the Unbelieving Boy
The memory of that day never left Peter. Not in the years of walking dusty roads, not in the thick silence of a Roman prison cell. It was etched into him, a strange scar of light and confusion. He’d tell…
The Mountain’s True Kingdom
The grass on the hillside was more grey than green, brittle under the weight of so many feet. Thaddeus, a fisherman from Bethsaida who had been following the rabbi for only a few weeks, found a spot on a low,…
Nahum’s Vision of Nineveh’s Fall
The air in Judah was dry that season, a parched stillness that seemed to press upon the hills. Nahum felt it in his bones before he saw it in his spirit. He had withdrawn to the shade of a rock…
Hosea’s Warning to Samaria
The air in Samaria held the peculiar thickness that comes before a storm, a damp, metallic taste that hinted at more than rain. Eliam shifted his weight on the rough stone of the city wall, his eyes scanning the horizon…
Sowing Wind, Reaping Whirlwind
The air in Samaria hung thick, a stew of dust, animal musk, and the sweet, cloying smell of burnt grain. It was the smell of prosperity, or so they told themselves. Eliab, an old scribe whose fingers were stained with…
The Mountains Drink Again
The rain had finally come. It wasn’t the gentle, life-giving rain of my youth, the kind that soaked into the terraces with a sigh. This was a violent, drenching torrent, sluicing down the rocky slopes of the mountains around Jerusalem,…
Ezekiel Bears Jerusalem’s Siege
The heat of the Babylonian sun was a physical weight. It pressed down on the flat rooftop of my house in Tel-abib, a weight I felt in my bones, a dry, baking pressure that made the very air seem to…
Clay and Promise in Exile
The heat in Babylon was a different kind of heat. It wasn’t the dry, familiar warmth of the Judean hills, but a thick, heavy thing that lay over the mud-brick houses and the strange, towering temples like a wool blanket….
The Crimson Treader’s Mercy
The memory of the winepress haunted Malachi’s old age. Not the neat stone troughs of his uncle’s vineyard outside Anathoth, where the grapes yielded their sweetness with a sigh. No, this was a different kind of pressing. He saw it…